


From Zero to One

by neongiraffe



Category: codstin
Genre: Anger, Angst, Comfort, Cuddling, Drabble, Gay, Hate, Her - Freeform, Hurt, Love, M/M, Snuggling, hatret, ifeelyou, so short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neongiraffe/pseuds/neongiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cody thinks about his relationship with Justin. Drabble, angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Zero to One

From Zero to One

“Hello?” my voice was raspy, but I was trying to sound like I was okay.  
“Cody?” he asked, his hazy and uncertain.  
“Yeah.” I only answered. I shivered from the cold, the world showed signs of summer but this late in the evening and with the wind squeezing it's way to my bones, it reminded you that the summer days were still ahead.  
“You okay?” he asked through the phone. It was quiet out here, I only faintly heard a bird singing a tune. I wasn't sure was it because of my state of mind or did the tune sound like a sad whisper in the night. I wondered if birds could actually sing sad tunes. Could they get sad like us mortal people with unnecessary feelings?  
“Cody?” a voice reached me. I realized that I hadn't answered his question.  
“I...” I stammered out. I stopped talking partly because I didn't know the answer, and partly because my voice broke. I took a moment and looked over the hill.  
“I umm...” I started but failed once again. I heard the rustle of the sheets at the other end of the phone. I figured he sat up on the blue sheets of his bed. I wondered if he still had the Beatles sheets like last time.  
“Are you up?” I asked. It was a very stupid question, I knew it but I felt like that was the way this conversation should had started.  
“Yeah I am now. What time is it?” he asked. I glanced at the watch on my hand.  
“Almost three in the morning.” I said and it made me feel calmer. Talking about normal stupid stuff like what time it was.  
“Where are you?” he asked, more awake now.  
“Outside.” I answered.  
“Outside? It's freezing out there.” he said and I heard a faint touch of worry in his voice. Or then it was me hoping yet again. I mentally hit myself, but when that didn't do the trick and erase the wrong thoughts from my head, I resumed to burying my hand in to my hair and pulling it.  
“Yea.” I said, not sure what he had said before.  
“Why are you...Are you okay?” he switched the question in mid sentence. I battled on which one to answer. I looked around and saw that I had walked in to a large sport stadium. I huffed out a bitter laughter. We had been there once before, walked around like an hour and talked about stupid stuff, freezing our asses off.  
“I'm.. at the stadium.” I said.  
“Why are you there?” he asked.  
“I'm not sure, to be honest. I answered.   
“I'll get you.” he said and I thought I heard him stand up.  
“No no don't I mean.. it's fine. I'm..” I didn't know how to finish the sentence.   
“You're sitting at a sport stadium at three in the morning when it's barely plus degrees, you are not fine.” he said and now I definitely heard him put his jacket on and a door shutting.  
“Plus I live like across the street so it's no bother.” he said and I huffed. I totally forgot that he lived 20 meters from here. Then again, I had been there more than once, so this shouldn't really be a surprise.  
“I'll be right there, don't go anywhere.” he said and I hummed. He ended the call and I dropped my hand from my ear. I stared at it and saw his name on the screen and that the call had lasted four minutes and forty one seconds. It was shorter than I expected.

I kinda hoped for the time to stop moving, because what would I do when he got there? What would I say? He was bound to ask why I called him in the middle of the night and why I had been crying. But on the bright side, I wasn't crying now. I just had to hope it stayed that way.  
“Hey.” I suddenly heard a voice. I turned around to look and the quickly looked away. He was there, in his black leather jacket and his hair a mess, making him look like little bird. A chaffinch I recalled the name. He sat next to me and I realised that I was sitting on that same oddly bent birch that we had once before. Well it was the last time when I ended up in his bed once again. His perfume hovered in the air and like yet again, I couldn't what it smelled like. It sounded like a cliche, but it smelled sweet and spicy at the same time. Suddenly I wondered what it would be like to walk in the mall with him, laughing at a joke, then stop at an ATM to get some cash and then he'd stop me and kiss me. In the public. With everyone's eyes on us.  
The feeling of guilt banged through me like a stab of sword. Straight through my heart. It made me feel sick and kinda made me want to puke. It made me feel like the worst person living, that I didn't deserve anything. This was wrong, so wrong, so utterly bloody wrong.

Then I felt his arm on top of mine. The pictures of the mall disappeared and I looked at him. It was the wrong thing to do. His eyes were steady and he was just too kind and too nice and too... I didn't even know what. It made me angry and frustrated. I didn't know what I was feeling and why I was feeling it and how could I make it stop?  
“D'you wanna tell me what's going on?” he asked, his voice as steady and low as always. I wondered if anything ever chanced about him. Was he always like this? I remember he when he told me that he had had long hair when he was younger and that he used to be a bit skinnier and I knew he wished he still was. And I remembered that I wanted to tell him that he was better this way but I staid quiet and stared at the picture of the younger, skinnier and longer haired version of him that he was showing from his phone. Then he pulled it away and laughed. He had a habit on looking somewhere else when he was laughing. Not at the person. I wondered why I knew so many stupid things about him.  
“Okay. That's alright.” he said and noticed I hadn't even answered him. “God you're freezing .” he said and realized that I was indeed shaking from the cold and I couldn't feel my toes. I stared at them through my turquoise tennis shoes but they didn't warm from my look.   
Then there was a black leather jacket wrapped around me and it was warm and good and horrible at the same time. It was his and it was his warmth and all the things I had come to know to. I glanced at him and he smiled at me. It reminded me all the times we had been out singing karaoke on a pub and doing some stupid quiz that had the hardest questions. We only got like four points. But we had fun. Then he sang and I was cheering for him and he sang well. The songs was about roses.  
He nudged me with one shoulder to get my attention. That reminded me of all the times I have spent in his arms after a night out and fallen asleep. We always have around two after parties and I was young and couldn't quite keep up yet. So usually always we ended up sitting at the sofa and I feel asleep, trusting him to take care of me. I was always somewhere between sleeping and staying awake and he always asked the others if I was dead.

“You're being all mopey, you're supposed to be the sunny one from us.” he said an I huffed out a laughter. And he always made me laugh, he was always good with words. Maybe that¨s why I never quite noticed everyone leaving and then it was just the two of us, when the night was already greeting the morning and letting it take it's place. I never quite noticed how he got me from the lobby to his room, it was always a vague and honestly quite stupid excuse. In the normal daylight it would have sounded really stupid and I would have probably snorted and laughed it off, instead of following him to his room, the fifth door on the right. I frowned, would I had really said no?   
Then he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and the bang of guilt hit me again. I tried to stop the memories from coming, but they came anyway. It was me, in his bed, in is slightly messy room, lying on those white and blue Beatles sheets. I went to use the loo, the clock was around seven. He had a pillow and blanket for me, but when I had climbed in to his bed, he had pulled me close to his chest and I was a bit in shock but went with it. I had never slept with anyone, and it was surprisingly nice. It was warm and his arm was on my head, brushing my hair back before he put his chin on top of it. Then he'd wrap his arm around me and it was even better. I knew I'd had to leave in an hour, I had school, and an important test and I needed to be there but.. It was nice here. Too nice. It was wrong. So wrong.

“Come back at mine, you're freezing yourself here. Don't want to ruin that pretty voice of yours by getting sick I'll get you a glass of hot chocolate.” he said and once again, even after all the trouble and hatred and everything, I found myself getting up and following him. His arm was still warm on my shoulder and I thought was I really this easy? Couple words and I was gone for it.  
Soon enough I was in the same hallway and I smelled the old building and saw the couch, walked past five doors and then I was sitting on the bed. And I felt miserable. Absolutely horrible. Then there was the warm drink and I gulped it in. I knew what was going to happen next and I did it. I fell on my back on the twin bed. It was actually two beds pushed together and I felt the place where they joined digging in to my back. I had hit my head on that wood many times before. I felt the bed dip and felt him next to me.  
Now he would tell me story about something and maybe play some guitar. It was like a dance, a ritual and we both knew how it would end. No one just wanted to say it out loud. We'd probably do this every time I got here. I sighed and he asked me something but I only hummed, not sure what he has asked.  
“Are you tired?”  
“Yeah.” I managed and he said nothing.   
“Can we like turn about 90 degrees so that damn wood isn’t pressing in to my back?” he asked and I nodded. We turned, now laying on the bed like it is supposed to lay there. The curtains were closed like always. I wondered if he ever opened them. I didn't get to the end of that thought because he wrapped himself around me and it was just like I had remembered it. Just like I had missed it, longed for it, and the same feeling of contentment and utter disgust with myself rolled in again.   
“Sleep now.” he said and I said nothing. I felt his breathing slowing down his fingers in my hair. He smoothed them back and then turned be and pulled my back against his chest. It quite odd how we fitted together. He was just the right size, slightly taller than me. He squeezed me a bit tighter for a second I wanted to cry.

I laid there and tried so hard not to cry, but the tears flowed anyway. He didn't notice a thing, I suspected he was already asleep. 

I wondered how I got this fucked up. How I went from a normal person to this. What ever I was anymore. All the memories broke through my mind and forced themselves to my retinas. It was him playing the guitar, him talking to me about hospitals, and me telling my stories about them too. It was him drinking a beer, him singing and playing a guitar, him late in the evening, one hair falling from his perfect hair. Him making me laugh, him saying hi, the in the morning when we saw in school after sharing the same bed. It was me thinking that this was awkward. It was me in his arms and wondering if this was odd, and deciding it was a tad odd.   
I could never say that I enjoyed this, that I liked it. Liked being here, liked him around me. I never admitted it to myself. It was like my mind always censored the word away, just like curse words on TV.   
But why did I like it? Why did I?

“Because you make me feel safe.” I whispered in to the darkness. There was no response as I suspected. I pressed back against him and felt wrong again. I remember going through his facebook and seeing all the pictures of him. Him on a gig, in the studio, him partying, his brown steady eyes looking at the camera , him laughing, him in Spain with her, him skiing with her, him with their friends.  
Every time he told a story about his life, I wondered if it was before her or was she in the picture already. Were they together at the time, was she there at that moment? I wondered if she shared the love for Batman like he did, because I didn't. I had seen one movie. I wondered if she liked rock and roll, the kind he played, because I didn't. I was more of a pop guy. Did she exercise every day and was really fit and ate salads, because I could be lazy sometimes and skip a workout.  
And then I thought if she deserved any of this, and the answer was clear – she didn't. Just how much would she hate me? Would she look at me with disgust or anger? And then the feeling of wrongness rolled in again, washing over me, making me shiver all over. Because she didn't know about any of this and she was a nice person and they've been together for four years and she was better for him, better. She would never do what I had done.  
Would she ask why I did it? And my only exploration would be that I didn't know. I had absolutely no idea and probably never would.  
It felt so wrong to be here, on her place, it felt wrong that he pulled me closer and it felt wrong that I knew that they almost broke up last spring and that he told me about. Everything was so wrong and I was sill here.

 

#neongiraffe


End file.
